Always Death Always Falling
by LovelyFangirls
Summary: John's been having nightmares rather frequently now. He wakes up frightened and panting. They're always about someone dying. Why is he having these dreams? Why does it hurt so much? Why are they all so vivid? (My summary sucks I'm sorry)
1. Annie

_When I think about it, I feel sick. I don't want to move, just want to sleep. I just want to stay curled up in my little cave, all alone and warm. Hopefully warm. People are starting to make me nervous. I don't want to talk to anyone. Can't you see I'm in pain!? The people I call friends ignore me. Do you even care?! If you know I'm hurting, why aren't you doing anything? Or is it maybe that there's nothing you can do. There is no way out of it. This is the end of the line. I'll be miserable forever. I feel sick. I want to cry. Crying doesn't help anymore, and sleeping gives me dreams that leave me awake and panting. I don't like how it is. Sure, I look happy. That's only to the people who don't see the real me when they look my way. Do I even have friends? Should I be allowed to love? My feelings get trampled over. Spat on. Neglected. Ignored._

_It's time to go. I want to go. I'm done. Please forgive me._

Shaking fingers pressed lightly on the paper, as if the words were something to be scared of. With a determined start, the letter was folded and placed into an envelope. Scattered breaths rang as that shaky hand placed it gently on a bright pink pillow. Her pillow. It was all going to be okay. Just a burden anyway. They said so themselves. All of them. Bare feet slid sluggishly along the white carpet, over to the balcony. With a deep breath, the girl climbed onto the ledge, pulling out a mobile.

"Hello?"

"I'm sorry."

"Annie? Annie what's wrong?"

"I'm sorry I was ever a burden to you. I'm also really sorry about everything I said before, I'm sorry that I really just wanted to be loved. That's all."

"Annie... we've been through this, I-"

"I'm sorry. I'm really sorry."

"Annie."

"Goodbye."

"Annie?"

The mobile lay abandoned on the balcony, its owner gone. The voice screaming vain cries of worry in reply to the sound of car horns honking at the body in the street. The body littered with blood from a girl who was much too young. Much too afraid. Much too hurt.

"Sherlock!" John gasped as he jolted in his bed.

Another nightmare. To his delight, Sherlock came running in, a cup of tea already in hand. This was becoming a sort of habit. Sherlock already didn't sleep, and John's nightmares were steadily increasing in their intensity. They were do real. It was strange, always death. Always falling.

"Drink this." Sherlock passed the small mug to John, satisfied after hearing a relaxed sigh. "Are you sure you shouldn't see a doctor about this?"

"I _am_ a doctor Sherlock. It's not something you could just prescribe some pills for."

"I've been reading about it myself. You're definitely a strange case John." Sherlock sat down near John's legs, careful not to land on them. "You can't think of anything?"

John chuckled sadly, "You're the genius. If you're stumped then we've got nothing."

"Well, what was the dream about this time?"

John started to tell Sherlock all about it, about Annie, about falling, everything. Sherlock sat there silently, just taking it all in.

There was a bit of silence, not exactly a bad one, but it was sad. It was almost like an apology. Sherlock couldn't do anything to help his friend. John was his only friend. He was a genius for crying out loud! Why didn't he know how to fix this? It was still early morning, but it was so quiet in their room that John could swear he heard London waking up. Some cars started while others softly drove down the streets. John could swear he even heard a few birds. How rare. It was beautiful, but still almost sad.

John tried to ignore Sherlock's gaze as he sipped at his tea. "You going to keep staring at me or can I go back to sleep?"

Sherlock seemed to snap back to reality after that. He cleared his throat as he stood. With a brief and slightly awkward nod, Sherlock turned and left. Leaving John alone to stew on the dream a bit more. This wasn't the first frightening death he'd seen first hand. Every time he had these dreams, they were people he'd never seen. He'd never heard of, and it was all as if it was him. He saw through Annie's eyes as she jumped. He saw the blood pool from his own head it seemed.

John shivered. What did this mean? Always death. Always falling. Always sad.


	2. It's Real

John tagged along behind Sherlock past the yellow caution tape. This was after all a crime scene, he shouldn't technically be here. He watched Sherlock work. Examining the blood stains around what would be the head, pointing out where the victim would have fallen. Then the crew went into the building. Lestrade debriefed them in the elevator.

"You know the technically John shouldn't be here right?" Lestrade asked.

"He's my assistant."

"Sherlock.."

"Just debrief us, you've never had a problem with him before." Sherlock bluntly stated, making the D.I. cough uncomfortably.

"Yeah, the victim was a girl, about 21. She lived here on her own. She's got some family, but they all said she was really happy. She didn't have any reason to commit suicide. There were some claw marks on the balcony so the men called it in, I thought maybe you could take another look around and see if there was really anything fishy. You know, just in case." Lestrade handed a folder to Sherlock, who carelessly flipped through it.

"'Just in case'? What's really going on here Lestrade? There's a witness who claimed to be talking to her on the phone. This couldn't be anything _but_ a suicide." Sherlock pushed the file into the D.I.'s arms.

"I just wanted to be sure."

"Lestrade, what's going-"

"You obviously didn't look close enough Sherlock. Read it again and think." Lestrade seemed to be trying to send Sherlock a message, one that wasn't getting across.

"What-"

The elevator let out a high ding signaling their arrival. John followed Sherlock out, trying to peek over his shoulder, hoping to catch a glimpse of this mysterious case. By the time they'd reached the door to apartment 243 A, Sherlock had already read the case file front to back. He exchanged understanding glances with Lestrade. John was getting curious now. Sherlock ushered him in this time. What in the world?

"Sherlock what are you-"

"Just have a look around John." Sherlock gently pushed the doctor in, trying to make John understand too.

"Sherlock!" John tried to spin around, but lost his balance and fumbled.

That was the first piece of the puzzle. John brushed his hand along the white carpet, before quickly lifting himself off the floor. He looked around. There was a bedroom. John raced to it, finding a pick pillow resting perfectly on its bed. John could feel his head spinning as he exited into the main room, his eyes resting on a balcony door. It was open. John raced out to it, it was the same balcony. There it was. John carefully picked up the pink phone that rested on the floor. This was Annie's apartment.

John nearly tripped again as he ran out to the two men waiting in the doorway. "Sherlock! This is Annie's apartment!"

"We know John. I told Lestrade about it yesterday wondering if he could help..."

Lestrade took over the conversation, "It was just like the suicide the night before." Lestrade took a partial step forward, trying to keep John calm. "John, your dream happened almost a day before she died. That's a weird coincidence."

John felt like glaring at them. What was this? Some kind of elaborate prank? "This isn't funny!"

"This isn't a joke."

"Comon' Sherlock, you of all people, this... this is... it's impossible." John held out his arms slightly, almost in a begging manor. John was begging for this all to be a joke.

"John," Lestrade comforted, "It's okay, were trying to figure out what's going on."

"THEY'RE JUST DREAMS!" John swung his hands about angrily.

"I had Lestrade look into the other deaths you described. They're all real John. They happen about a day after you dream about them. It's fascinating."

"Sherlock!" Lestrade elbowed him. "For once could you _not_ be you?"

John just stood there silently. Almost lifeless. This was too weird.

Getting to sleep that night was difficult. John didn't want to have another dream. He really didn't want to dream about someone dying again. Now it was even worse. There was this thing about his being some kind of seer? Like he could see the future. He didn't want to wake up knowing some poor bastard was gonna kill themselves the next day. And what's with all these suicides anyway? It must've just been some weird epidemic? Maybe...

John could feel his eyes get heavy as he tried to stay awake. His efforts were in vain. He was soon asleep. Sure enough, John had another of his deadly dreams. He wished it would all just go away. Why was he having to deal with these nightmares? Always death. Always falling and always sad.


End file.
